


Both Ways

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: It's Kinktober 2020, babes [25]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Age Difference, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, Drag Queens, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Older Man/Younger Man, Requited Unrequited Love, jbbkinktober2020, non-established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27192115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: Gil seems to be mad after their latest case. Malcolm is frustrated enough to seek him out about it.---Day 25: Caught Masturbating
Relationships: Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright
Series: It's Kinktober 2020, babes [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948045
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Both Ways

It’s rare for them to have problems. Besides the incident during the Vosler case, Malcolm can’t think of any serious fight they’ve had, any hiccup that wasn’t immediately solved through the power of patience and understanding. 

But now… Now Malcolm isn’t sure _what_ he did. He’s sure part of it is the whole risking his life thing, because yeah, Gil’s never been a big fan of that plan, especially when there are other ways to get to the same conclusion. This time, though, Malcolm knows they wouldn’t have caught their killer as fast had he not stepped in. It was a risk, throwing himself out on the stage, and yet he’d do it again and again if he had to. 

They were investigating a series of murders that all seemed to originate from the same club and the same type of event there — specifically, drag shows. Not all of their victims were frequent patrons of the club. In fact, most of them were only there for the show, according to their friends. 

Someone from that crowd died once a week. It didn’t seem like the killer was picking any particular pattern of shows or victims, and Malcolm theorized they didn’t work standard hours, but that was the bulk of his profile so far. Everything else seemed situational. Besides the club, the shows, none of the victims had anything in common. Was their killer just picking whomever they could get their hands on?

So the team went undercover at those shows, sitting at the bar or standing in the crowd in plain clothes. They sat through three of them, one each night, without anything pinging their radar. No new victims, either. 

On the fourth night, Malcolm made a decision. 

“Where are you going?” Gil hissed in his ear. 

“Getting a better view,” Malcolm murmured. And he was. The stage was going to have the best view of the crowd, and part of him was sure his chances of pinpointing their killer — if they were even here tonight — would skyrocket if he could get up there. 

Convincing the staff wasn’t as hard as he imagined. One of them remembered him from ages ago, back when he was a baby-faced college student with a small collection of very expensive dresses and palettes, and they practically rushed him to the back. From there it was muscle memory. He made due with the spares they could offer him and left his beard as is. 

He still made for a lithe little queen, medium brown wig fluttering around his shoulders, the navy blue dress pinned creatively so it wasn’t so obviously a size too big. Although he used to rock at least four inches of heel, he chose a matching kitten heel just in case he was too out of practice. He wasn’t _perfect_ , but he wouldn’t stick out too badly.

They slipped him in line between two other queens. He gave them a brief explanation and asked them to let him know if they saw anything, too, because he was reasonably sure none of them were the killer. 

And then they all walked out across the stage in sync. He strutted and winked and preened along with all of the other girls even as he heard the frustrated _Bright_ in his ear. 

Gil could be frustrated all he wanted to. Malcolm wasn’t actually in that much danger. Their killer didn’t go after the queens. Their killer was likely nowhere _near_ the stage. They wouldn’t want the attention. If anything, Gil, JT, and Dani were in more precarious positions than he was. 

It took him the walk out and back to figure out who it was. He notified them as soon as he could.

JT tackled and cuffed their killer that night. 

Malcolm came back out to join Gil and Dani as soon as he could scrub the minimal makeup off his face and change back into his street clothes. He was happy, not only from the collar but also the drag, which he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much.

His happiness went down the drain the moment Gil caught sight of him and stormed off. Dani frowned after their boss. 

Hadn’t Malcolm done something similar nearly every case they worked together? He wasn’t great at listening or following directions. Gil already knew that. Accepted it.

So now Malcolm’s here, in front of Gil’s house at nearly midnight, unable to sleep, because he’s terrified that he did something wrong. He didn’t even mean to walk here. His feet steered him in this direction. 

There’s a light on upstairs. 

Malcolm takes a deep breath and walks up to the door, knocks. 

There’s no answer. 

He rings the doorbell.

Again, no answer. And maybe it’s leftover frustration from earlier, maybe it’s disappointment that the only thing he could think he did was get in drag, maybe it’s anger that Gil couldn’t even say a _word_ to him before leaving in a huff. Regardless of the why, Malcolm finds himself digging into his coat pocket for his keys.

Once upon a time, Gil gave him a house key. Malcolm still has it. 

He unlocks the door quietly. There aren’t any lights on downstairs, so he carefully climbs the stairs, not wanting Gil to hear him before he wants him to. He stands in front of Gil’s bedroom door with a clenched jaw. 

“ _Fuck_ , Bright,” Gil says, loud enough to be audible through the door. 

Malcolm hesitates, confused, but curiosity gets the better of him and he’s turning the handle before he really processes the sounds. 

Gil’s at the top of the bed. His head is back against the wall, and his hand is fisted around his swollen cock, the band of his sweatpants pushed underneath his heavy sack. He takes a ragged breath with his eyes squeezed shut and abandons his grip in favor of cupping his balls. His abandoned cock bobs against his shirt all red and angry. 

Malcolm can’t help but stare. His mouth feels _oh_ so dry. Suddenly, he’s thinking back on Gil’s reaction earlier that night and second-guessing his initial assumptions. His pants feel tight. He _knows_ he makes a pretty queen. He was told so enough times back when he was a regular at that club, and even taking into account how much he’s filled out since then, he must still be a stunning figure all dolled up. He swallows thickly. 

Gil groans and opens his eyes, his hand sliding back up to wrap around his cock. His gaze snaps to Malcolm. His hips buck as he curses and grabs at the blanket to cover himself. “Kid?”

“Hey Gil,” Malcolm says faintly. “I guess you enjoyed the show earlier.”

Gil rubs a hand across his face — the one that hadn’t been on himself a moment ago. “Out.” His voice is strained.

“I’m not leaving.” Malcolm licks his lips and stands his ground. “I didn’t — I didn’t know you found me attractive.” He wishes he sounded confident, but his words are weak.

“You weren’t supposed to,” Gil says gruffly. 

Malcolm walks into the room on shaky legs and perches on the end of the bed. “So… was it the drag? Or are you attracted to me like this, too?”

Pointedly not looking at him, Gil sighs. “It wasn't just tonight.”

 _Just tonight._ So Gil likes him both ways. It’s funny that now it’s Malcolm who’s trying to catch his eyes and Gil who’s avoiding him. “I’ve had a crush on you for years,” he admits quietly.

Gil closes his eyes. “I’m not asking you for anything, kid.”

“I’m offering,” Malcolm says as firmly as he can. “I — Gil, I want you, too.”

“Bright —”

“I’m not lying. I used to, um.” He can feel the flush on his cheeks just thinking about how awful he used to pine for the man in front of him. ( _Used to_ is perhaps wishful thinking, if he’s being honest.) He clears his throat. “I used to wear a longer wig. When I went on stage originally.”

Gil clenches a hand in the folds of the blanket. 

“It was one of my trademarks. Long brown hair. Do you know why I only wore long wigs?”

Gil shakes his head. 

“When I was a teenager, back before you found Jackie, you — you dated a lot of women with long brown hair,” Malcolm admits, feeling ridiculous, but it’s true. “I used to wonder if you’d think I was hot on stage. I’ll do it again, if you’d like to see.”

Gil curses. “Kid, get over here.” He sounds tired, hesitant.

Malcolm immediately crawls up the bed, not bothering to remove his shoes or clothes. He places a hesitant hand on the shape of Gil’s thigh under the blanket. “Can I?”

“ _Fuck_.” Gil grabs at the blanket and flips it over, uncovering himself again. “Yeah, kid. Go ahead.”

Malcolm scrambles into the space between his legs. Looking up at him, making sure to catch his gaze, he dips his head and nuzzles the still throbbing cock in front of him. He can feel the groan Gil lets out through his grip on the man’s thighs. He lays his face against the length and gives it a few little kitten licks. “God, Gil,” he murmurs against him. 

One of Gil’s hands sinks into his hair. It’s just a light presence for now. 

It’d be impractical, but Malcolm imagines how it would be if Gil got a good grip on one of his favorite wigs. “You can pull,” he says. “ _Please_ pull.” Shifting, he mouths at the tip.

Gil’s fingers dig into his hair, ripping a moan out of him. He doesn’t yank or force. He guides him down further with the slightest hint of pressure. 

And Malcolm goes. He breathes and swallows around the length in his mouth, his throat, letting himself be pulled down until his nose is mashed up against Gil’s groin. He blinks up at him with tearing eyes. 

Gil tugs him off inch by inch, his hips twitching as his spit-slick cock is exposed to the cool air. He stops when the head of it rests on Malcolm’s tongue. He pulls him down again. And then faster.

Malcolm holds onto his thighs for the ride, lets him use him, _wants_ him to. He swallows when he can, letting the drool drip down his chin when he can’t, and tries his best to take care of Gil even as his eyes burn from the pace. Just thinking about doing this when he’s all dressed up is enough to distract him into gagging. _God_ , he wants it. He wants to dress up for _Gil_.

Gil’s grip in his hair tightens. His pace is getting jerkier, and the stream of curses and praise that slip from his slack lips runs together unintelligibly.

When he comes, Gil holds Malcolm flush against him. 

Malcolm gasps for air after. He rests his head against Gil’s thigh and closes his eyes, chest rising up and down in great visible heaves. “How was I?”

“God, kid,” Gil says, barking out a laugh. “Too good.” He pets Malcolm’s hair with a gentle hand. 

“Let me dress up for you next time?” Malcolm peers up at him with watery eyes.

Gil’s softened cock twitches futilely, and he groans. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Malcolm takes that as a yes. He can’t _wait_. “A little death, hopefully.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Kinktober! I'm planning on doing every prompt, so look out for more!
> 
> Prompt list I'm using can be found here: https://jbbuckybarnes.tumblr.com/post/627189398153363456/kinktober-2020


End file.
